


Shorelines

by derryday



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Dishonored Kink Meme, F/M, PWP, Past Corvo Attano/Jessamine Kaldwin, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:12:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4000318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryday/pseuds/derryday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corvo and Callista finally have that bath after all is said and done. </p><p>[Written for <a href="https://dishonored-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/446.html?thread=407230#cmt407230">this prompt</a> at the Dishonored kink meme.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shorelines

The door opened with a well-oiled click. Callista stepped out of her soft shoes. She hissed when her bare feet hit the cold tiles of the bathroom. The wood stove in the corner was crackling, spreading warmth through the large room. But after the slippers, the tiles felt positively icy.

She looked around, and only got a glimpse of the spacious room, well-lit by whale oil lamps, and the steaming bubble bath in the basin, before she caught sight of a whole lot of naked, scarred skin.

Frozen in the middle of the room stood Corvo, shirtless, halfway through unlacing his trousers.

For a moment they just stared at each other, both of them motionless in surprise. Corvo looked— not _small_ , exactly, without his coat, because Callista wasn't sure if Corvo was even capable of appearing less tall, but somehow less imposing. 

His hair was in disarray, most likely from where he'd pulled his shirt over his head. His eyes met hers head on. They were still shadowed, but he looked less dead on his feet than he had when he'd helped her put Emily to bed earlier, after the icy biting wind of their boat ride from Kingsparrow Island.

Callista became abruptly aware that she was staring. She let out a small gasp of embarrassment and whirled around to face the door.

"Sorry," she squeaked. "Sorry, I— really should have knocked..."

Corvo coughed. It rasped wetly in his throat. Callista grimaced at herself—of course Corvo couldn't reply in words right away—and she cautiously turned back, holding her towels to her stomach and pinching the top of the bathrobe shut with the other hand.

The lamp light glinted on Corvo's collarbones, oddly fragile-looking above the solid muscle of his chest, the lithe trimness of his waist. By the Outsider, that was really quite a lot of... of skin. And scars. There were a number of them, from little white pockmarks in the dusting of dark hair across his chest, to a long pale slice down his abdomen that disappeared into his waistband at his hip.

And two brands, stacked right on top of each other in the sinewy inside of Corvo's forearm, still a bit red and wrinkled-looking.

She thought that she was most likely looking at the aftermath of months of being locked up in Coldridge Prison. Callista forced her eyes up to his, and did her best to hold her gaze though her blood was rushing hot and fast into her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she said again. Her voice was almost steady. "I'll..."

She trailed off. Corvo did not look angry that she'd barged in on him, or even embarrassed. He took a number of slow steps towards her, and she got the strange impression that he _was_ trying to make himself smaller after all. His feet were bare and surprisingly fine-boned against the tiles.

Corvo did not touch her. But his eyes were like a physical weight of their own, and he was looking at— her wrist, Callista realized, where she was holding the towels and the sleeve of her soft borrowed bathrobe had slipped down to expose a darkening bruise.

The sight of it, the purplish green pushing sorely up against her fair skin, made Callista's stomach clench unpleasantly. She shook out the sleeve so it dropped back to cover the mark.

"It's alright, I'm fine," she said. She even tried on a smile, but she had to pull inordinately hard to get it to stay on her face. "Havelock... I tried to keep him from taking Emily and..."

Corvo's expression darkened. But his gaze dropped from hers and he took a courteous step back.

He went back to the basin with its steaming, soapy water. His coat and tunic, even his boots and some of his weapons, had been placed on one of the cushioned chairs that stood scattered around the room.

He went to gather up his things and Callista realized, startled, that he was about to leave to afford her the luxury of taking a bath by herself.

"Wait," she said quickly. She stepped towards him. The coldness of the floor nipped at her naked heels. "I didn't mean to intrude, I..."

What she'd meant to say was that it was her who should have been leaving, that she'd find a different bathroom to wash off the long, hard day in. 

But somehow, what came out of her mouth instead was, "The basin looks big enough for both of us."

Silence. Callista felt her face flood with color. It was an almost painful rush of heat. A sudden, swooping emptiness hit her in the stomach, like she had missed a step going down a flight of stairs.

Corvo stared at her like he'd never seen her before, a sudden and sharp regard. Callista could do nothing but stare back. Oh, why had she _said_ that, why— why... And she was sure she looked ridiculous, with her blotchy red face and her untidy bun frizzing in the damp air and the borrowed robe, clearly much too fine to belong to the likes of her...

But somehow she did find some leftover starch in her spine. She closed her mouth—she would not let herself apologize and trip over her words again. She held Corvo's gaze, though it felt like an anvil's weight had dropped onto her, and somehow mustered up the strength not to flee from the room in mortification.

She watched Corvo watch her. Had she overstepped? She'd thought... 

Well, she wasn't sure what she'd thought. But Corvo had blushed so very deeply when he'd interrupted her bath at the Hound Pits. If nothing else, this might have eased his conscience about that day. A bath shared between friends at the end of a long and terrible ordeal. 

Slowly, Corvo raised his eyebrows at her. From anyone else, she might've mistaken it for a lewd gesture, but she could see the wariness in his eyes.

Callista imagined that her spine was a rod holding her upright, and the heat of her blush was just an useless wave crashing against her tall, immovable form.

"Yes, I'm sure," she said. 

Slowly, she let her towels slide down. Not baring herself like some slattern, exactly, but dropping that guard until the robe gaped open at the top. 

She wasn't afraid. Her stomach still jolted unhappily with a whole load of nerves but she wasn't scared. She _wasn't_ , and she wanted him to see that.

Her face prickled with heat, and her knees felt somewhat watery under the soft robe, but she didn't drop her gaze. Eventually, with obvious wariness, Corvo inclined his head in assent.

They wound up on opposite sides of the basin. Corvo had turned his broad back as soon as Callista's shaking hands had gone to the ties of her robe, and she had done him the same courtesy as he'd removed his trousers, and now they sat submerged to their shoulders amidst gentle sloping hills of soft bubbles.

The soap was finer than the grainy, oily stuff they'd used at the Hound Pits. It had turned the water into a creamy, soft liquid that seemed to embrace and caress her skin. And the basin was so big, Callista was sure she could've swum a few strokes in it, to the other side. 

The water was surprisingly deep. The marble floor felt slippery under Callista's feet. A bench had been built into the basin, running all along the edge, and it was there that they both sat, with a wide expanse of steaming water and foam between them.

Corvo hadn't really moved since he'd slipped into the water. He sat with his back straight and posture rigid, trying and failing to look unconcerned. His hair was beginning to curl very slightly in the heavy damp air. 

His gaze kept darting to her and then away again, like he was constantly assessing her feelings about his presence. He seemed ready to bolt out the door wet and bare as the day he'd been born at her first sign of discomfort.

Callista sighed internally. Corvo was half submerged in water and yet she could see the coiled tension in his shoulders. He didn't really appear to trust that she was truly alright with these proceedings. He could not see the small, quivering surge of pride Callista felt, having so boldly initiated this herself.

She would just have to make herself comfortable then. She reached up, behind her head, and pulled out her sturdy metal hair pins with a few well-practiced motions. 

Her hair fell soft and tangled onto her wet shoulders. It had grown at the Hound Pits, and she was forever debating whether to get it cut or not. The brown-golden fall of it was a curtain against her damp skin, a stifling heat at her neck.

Callista dunked her head under. Just for a moment, just long enough to get her hair wet. When she came back up, it hung dripping and dark down to the tops of her breasts.

Maybe she was only imagining it. But Corvo's eyes seemed to widen a bit at the sight. Suddenly he leaned over and set to refolding his towel at the edge of the basin.

Callista's heart beat a little faster at that. Her blood rushed hotly through her veins, heated by the water and the unexpected, foreign thrill of the moment. Ms. Curnow, the earnest and prim and boring teacher... playing at being a covert and careful seductress. It was unheard of.

Not that she was planning to _seduce_ Corvo. Not quite—he was too... too serious, too grave and courteous for a silly dalliance like she might've had with some strapping lad from the Draper's Ward. No, seduction was not the right word.

This could remain a bath between friends who had been through a lot together. But if anything else came out of it... Callista wiped her hair off her shoulders and smiled to herself, a little giddy. Well. She would certainly not protest.

"Emily is asleep?" she asked Corvo, just for something to say. Her voice echoed in the large room.

Corvo started slightly, then nodded. Unexpectedly, he even replied in words. "She fell asleep quickly," he said. His voice still scratched wetly, painfully. "Cecelia and Samuel stayed just outside her room. I just hope she won't dream."

Then he coughed. It had been quite a long speech, and Callista had expected to hear it take its toll. Still, she couldn't help but flinch in sympathy. 

All night she had been wondering at how much Corvo seemed to be overexerting himself. He must've spoken to Emily when he'd found her locked up in the lighthouse, and he had talked to her uncle too, and to Emily some more when they'd put her to bed...

At any rate, Callista hoped Emily wouldn't dream, too. She hoped that their little Empress was getting the soundest sleep of her young life, back at last in the palace she'd grown up in and called home, and surrounded by far, far fewer friends than there should have been.

She took a soft, plush washcloth and used it to press water to her face. Her skin prickled at the heat for a moment. She sighed in relief. She'd felt grimy and sticky all day, with fear-sweat and then river mist and exhausting, frantic worry as Samuel had taken her in the boat towards Kingsparrow Island.

The water was so hot that it steamed still, and did not seem inclined to stop. It had stung against her skin as Callista had slowly lowered herself into the basin. Goosebumps were still pebbling her skin all over, though the heat was seeping into her now, evening out the temperature until her face felt sweaty and too warm.

Slowly, meditatively, Callista washed her hair. She took her time to comb out the tangles with her fingers and really rub the soap into her scalp until she felt it foam up. It was such a tremendous relief to be clean. The bathroom at the Hound Pits had been always occupied, the pipes clogged more often than not, and sometimes the water heater in the basement had not worked and the faucets had only spat out a lukewarm trickle.

This, though... this was submerging herself to her nose in wonderful, flowing heat. This was rubbing under her arms with handfuls of fragrant foam that smelled of wildflowers and expensive soap, until even the fine hairs there felt soft and scrubbed.

Her hair floated gently in the water around her head when she tilted herself back a bit to look up at the ceiling. A mural had been arranged there, in countless little colored tiles. The pattern was one of abstract flowers. Red roses melted into soft blue hydrangea, seemingly without seam, as though the flowers were growing out of each other.

Corvo briefly submerged himself, too. When he came back up, his hair was equally plastered to his skull. He reached for some more soap. He asked, "Have you been assigned a room for the night?"

Callista shook her head. "I only heard that my uncle wants us all to sleep in the guest quarters."

"We don't know quite yet who in this Tower is friend or foe," Corvo said. "The guest quarters are easily defensible. It's better if we all stay together."

And oh, that rasp really sounded quite painful. Callista couldn't help but wince when he spoke—a habit that she hadn't been able to shake. The other Loyalists had done it too, save for Emily, who had to have been so familiar with the skips and catches of Corvo's voice that she hardly registered them anymore, or hardly ever wondered if he ever had to put himself through pain when someone asked him a question and courtesy demanded he answer.

This time, Corvo saw her reaction. He gave her a long-suffering look—he must have been getting that all the time. "It's alright," Corvo said. "The steam helps."

Callista felt herself blush at that. She bit her lip. It was like she'd been spying, and like she should've tried harder to disguise her reaction. But Corvo didn't look angry or guarded. He just looked a little exasperated, not caught off-guard or bristling at the moment.

She wanted to ask if it hurt, but felt shy now, not as sure-footed. In the end she just said, somewhat unrelatedly, "It's just so hard to believe it is all over."

Corvo's eyes went to her wrist again. The hot water had reddened the skin there, and somehow the bruise stood out more lividly now. Perhaps the bleeding beneath the skin had started again as her heat-quickened blood had broken through the clogging.

He said nothing, though, just inclined his head. "You can take your time," he said, slowly. He spoke more quietly now, putting less strain on his throat. "With adjusting. Your task is done."

Callista ducked her head to rinse the soap suds from the ends of her hair. "I think Emily would disagree with that." She chanced a smile at Corvo. "And, honestly, I would too. I'm not leaving now."

"Good," Corvo said, decisively.

Then he hesitated. Alarm flickered through his eyes, sudden and unexpected. "I meant," he ground out hurriedly, and paused to clear his throat, "not that you're— not free to go, which you _are_ , I didn't mean..."

Callista sunk deeper behind her little mountain of foam to hide her smile. "Of course," she said demurely, and brought her hands to her hair again to rinse out the bubbles.

Corvo subsided into silence. A frown had appeared between his eyebrows—he was turning over his words, trying to find out where he'd slipped, wondering if he needed to apologize or if he had in fact not offended her at all.

It cheered her to see it. Corvo was always so self-contained and calm, a grave and steadfast calm point in every room. Seeing him flustered, even just slightly, was a thorough novelty... Well, perhaps not quite. He had certainly been flustered when he'd walked in on her bathing at the Hound Pits.

But still, Callista felt like the ground had steadied beneath her feet again. It was less like she was scrabbling for purchase on a tilting surface.

She rinsed out her hair and pressed it flat to her scalp, trying to squeeze some of the wetness out. The bath's heat made her body feel slow and sluggish. Some of the day's tension was coaxed from the muscles by the water.

And Corvo was with her, and his presence was... it was an unexpected, unwieldy warmth to her, an unknown factor, like a new garment that settled unused but welcome around her shoulders. 

She had never really spent much time with him at the Hound Pits. She'd had her hands so full with Emily and her own nagging incessant worry for her uncle. 

And, well, she'd felt a bit timid around him. He was so tall, and he had come fresh out of Coldridge, and the _things_ she'd heard about that place... She had felt awkward and ungainly in his presence, unsure what to say to him except for polite greetings.

Callista squeezed some more moisture out of her hair and draped it over her shoulder. The ends dragged through the hot water, foamy with the soap. She said, "This is certainly better than that dreadful rusty tub at the Hound Pits."

On the other side of the basin, Corvo stilled. His eyes found hers. She knew immediately that he had caught her reference.

Once again it took some effort, but Callista managed to not look away. He looked startled. She felt— daring, with him there, daring but also calm, because, and he wouldn't leer at her.

A moment of silence. Then Corvo said, slowly, "Callista, when I— at the Hound Pits, when I opened that door... I... wish to apologize. It was— not polite. A misstep. I'm—"

"It was an accident," Callista interrupted him, patiently. His voice scratched less, now; it was likely that the steam really did help. "The door had no lock. It was hardly your fault you didn't stop to peek through the keyhole to see if it was occupied."

For some reason, Corvo's mouth firmed at that, a thin line of displeasure. Callista's heart beat hard and deep in her chest, and she could feel her pulse in her belly and palms like a warning. 

She knew what he meant. She hadn't forgotten. It had been the only slip she'd ever seen from him, when he'd made that quip about joining her. She'd seen the shock that had followed right after, the mortification at what he'd blurted out, and she'd dismissed the incident as an understandable slip of control, never to be repeated.

It was one thing to find herself so startlingly at ease in Corvo's presence now. It was another thing entirely to bring up that misstep. Corvo was the most careful, courteous man she knew, and she didn't want to shame him... and really, what was she _doing?_ This was so very forward and unseemly and certainly not the right time, after their coup on Havelock and the freezing boat ride to the Tower, but... 

But somehow, she found herself doing it anyway. Callista tried on a hesitant smile. She felt girlish and young, and yet she somehow knew that this was all in the very palm of her hand, it would go one way or another but she was the one with the power to tip the scales.

"And I— I meant what I said," she told Corvo. She straightened her back. "About, about the bath."

Corvo blushed. He actually blushed. Color rose up from his neck, darker than the healthy glow that the bath had brought. It crept up into his cheeks, where it settled beneath his three-day stubble, and he suddenly looked younger, too, vulnerable in his surprise.

Corvo said hurriedly, almost tripping over the words, "I would never hold you to that—"

"Well, _I_ would."

A ringing silence fell. Far away, pipes groaned and clanked in the walls, perhaps as some of the others washed off the strain of the long day too. The whale oil lamps did not burst from Callista's brazen offering, and nor did the water curdle around her.

Corvo opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked utterly gobsmacked.

Callista slid off the bench and stood. 

Water ran in rivulets down her body. The air felt cold on her wet skin. Goosebumps broke out across her breasts and arms. Under the soap bubbles that still clung to her, her nipples firmed into drawn-up points.

The floor of the basin was smooth and slick with soap under her feet. The water was like a welcoming embrace. It seemed to beckon her onward. Corvo kept his eyes determinedly on her face, Callista saw, as she came closer. He seemed frozen to the spot, thoroughly arrested and captivated by her slow approach. 

At last, her thighs bumped into Corvo's knees. Such an innocuous point of contact, and yet it thrilled her, set her pulse racing a little faster. It was already beating like a war drum, egging her on and pulling like a fearful rider on the reins at the same time. 

What _was_ this? What thoughts had possessed her, to stand here before the Lord Protector, wet and uncovered with the soft weight of her breasts just barely touching the surface of the water?

"Callista," Corvo whispered. He shaped the word more than he spoke it, almost silent. His eyes were unfathomably dark. She caught him glancing down, just for a second. "What are you doing?"

She put a hand on his shoulder. Even well clear of the water, his skin was fever-hot. He twitched slightly under the sudden touch, like he hadn't expected it. 

The flinch emboldened her. Callista took a deep breath, and fit her palm around the big, warm muscle there, and brushed her thumb against the oddly fragile jut of his collarbone.

She wanted to say something witty— _What does it look like I'm doing?_ Something that would make him laugh. Or something cloyingly sweet, something that would earn her a kiss.

In the end, she just said, "Corvo," very softly, hardly louder than he had spoken, and leaned in to press her mouth to his.

For a moment, he was completely still. An unmoving presence, so close that she could feel the shuddering breath he let out, his lips chapped from the cold against hers.

Then he kissed her back. Not sudden, exactly, but with a certain amount of insistence. He jolted forward a little like he couldn't help himself, and opened his mouth for her, just a bit, and licked a hot, wet swipe along her lips.

Well, that was... Callista let her eyes fall shut. She sucked his lower lip between hers—never let it be said that she was falling behind—and tugged on it, and mouthed briefly and curiously at the prickly stubble around the softness of his mouth.

Corvo tasted faintly of the tea that a befuddled servant had served them downstairs, just after they'd arrived wet and bedraggled and with Emily half asleep in Corvo's arms.

His mouth was hotter even than the water. He licked at the inside of her cheek, as though he had found the taste of tea in her mouth too. He mouthed gently at her upper lip, her cupid's bow. His stubble scratched at her mouth. A hot prickle raced down her spine.

Their lips detached with a soft, wet noise. Their breaths mingled, and sounded inordinately loud in the echoing room.

Corvo was so close that his face blurred a little in her vision. The flush had spread farther across his cheeks, and his eyes were dark, so dark, reflecting the light from the whale oil lamps in little pinpricks of gold.

Callista looked at him. In her palm, where it still rested on Corvo's shoulder, she could faintly feel his pulse, a rapid-fire staccato. She whispered, "Is this alright?"

This time, Corvo did not hesitate. "Yes," he whispered back.

His hand rose to meet hers, clasping her fingers well clear of the bruise around her wrist, courteously lending her his strength as she rose up onto the bench.

Callista climbed into his lap. His thighs were thick and powerful under her buttocks. She sighed a little at the solid strength of him, resting under her. She wasn't brazen enough to tilt her hips down and rub the soft, blood-filled tissue between her legs against him, but having those broad, hard muscles so close to her sex... 

She took a slow breath, and willed down the tremor that ran through her limbs. They had time, she reminded herself. Corvo was a man of constancy. Yes he'd said, and yes he meant, and if that changed he'd let her know, and she probably didn't need to be an expert seductress for him.

Hot water and foam splashed between them as Callista situated herself. Her cheeks grew hotter, and she felt clumsy and long-limbed, but finally she settled with her knees on the bench. The position put her almost at Corvo's eye level.

Corvo let out a long sigh. He leaned back a little, lifted his hands from the water to set his arms on the rim of the basin, as if to assure her he wouldn't touch her without her invitation. His skin broke into goosebumps at the cold touch of the tiles.

She felt brave, bold, and yet with nerves fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Her pulse beat hard and slow, a rousing drum. Callista took one of those hands—the right one. She marveled quietly at how big his palm was, how broad, and lifted it to fit it around her breast.

Corvo's throat worked as he swallowed. For a moment he seemed almost afraid to move. Then he brushed his callused thumb over the already stiff pebble of her nipple. Callista smiled, and let her fingertips linger on the back of his hand for a moment—it wouldn't do for his tentative touch to drop away as soon as she moved.

The short hair on Corvo's chest was slick with soap and water. She felt the faint ridges of a few scars under her fingertips, but decided not to linger—they felt old, not like the discolored skin from the burns on the inside of his forearm. His stomach muscles jumped under her touch, almost startled again, and she took a moment to wonder, faintly amused, whether the great Lord Protector might have been ticklish.

Corvo looked at her like he had never quite seen her before. Like she was a mirage that might disappear at any moment, that'd burst if he held it too firmly. His eyes were guarded but unexpectedly soft with wonder, and it was...

It was entirely unexpected, and it made something tremble in her. Far removed from the pulse of nervous arousal between her legs, but deeper, in the very marrow of her bones. 

Callista could not help but kiss him again. She felt the slight shiver in his breath as their mouths met and detached and met again, soft presses of lips and tongue and the slick sounds of saliva. Corvo's belly stopped quivering under her palm—she felt a tension run out of him that she hadn't known was there, so well-hidden it had been.

When Callista drew away, just a bit, she saw that Corvo had closed his eyes.

Water clung to his lashes, made them spiky and even darker. He pressed one last bristly kiss to the corner of her lips and moved back to look at her again.

The bath water had washed out the cuts and scrapes on his hands that he had brought back from Kingsparrow Island. He had been stroking the sides of her breasts with the backs of his fingers. Now, his hands twitched slightly like he'd just realized what he was doing, or not doing. He hesitated, then thumbed at her nipples again, firmer this time, rolled them under the weight of his thumbs.

It was Callista who exhaled this time. She never really paid that much attention to her chest when she was tucked safely into the privacy of her bed at night. But there was something about the roughness of Corvo's fingers, pressing the hard little nubs against the soft, yielding weight of her flesh... 

Callista bit her lip as a deep frisson went through her. Her sex felt blood-warm and tight, yearning for friction, pressure, something to yield against.

Instead, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around Corvo's neck. She caught a glimpse of her bruised wrist, and buried it under his hair, until she could touch the tiles behind him. Her breasts pressed soft and full to the hard, hot muscle of his chest, and— oh, his penis squeezed right up against her belly, a snug, hot pressure.

She shivered. Corvo did, too, and on impulse, Callista leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, just so he wouldn't see her startled expression, the tingle of nervous, shivery excitement that rushed down her spine.

She was no shrinking virgin, Callista was not. She _had_ done this before. But not very often. She didn't know if she was any good at it, and for a moment that gave her pause, froze something young and nervous within her.

Her partner had been a young barrister from the legal district. She'd been tutoring the spoiled and wicked sons of some lord or other, and they had met covertly at his imposing, ornately carved tenement building. He'd seemed quite satisfied with her. But then, he'd been even younger than she was, even more fumblingly inexperienced. 

Corvo was older. His body was like a finely wrought weapon, graceful and strong and tightly controlled. Callista knew that her uncle often bragged about how pretty she was, but... she was also acutely aware of her long limbs, the slight, awkward lankiness she imagined in them.

If Corvo had any complaints— well, she hoped he wouldn't have any. With some determination, Callista kissed his cheek and felt more than saw him smile, and pressed herself against him.

This way, she could feel Corvo harden further against her belly. He was so very warm, he exuded heat from every muscle, and his cock was fever-hot against her, the skin so thin and soft that she almost imagined she could feel his heartbeat there.

He didn't grip her hips and lift her against him like she'd thought he would. He just ran his teeth gently across her lip, making her gasp. The kiss stole the breath right out of her mouth as she sealed their lips together again, and licked at his tongue with hers.

Callista did not know how long they kissed. She only knew that Corvo's mouth was soft and wet and his stubble left a delicious, stinging tingle on her cheeks. Her heart beat fierce and deep in her chest, as though it sensed that it was close to another. 

Their mingled breaths and the lapping water sounded inordinately loud. The stove crackled and the lamps hummed but Callista did not care, there was none to overhear anyway. Moist, fragrant steam rose from the bath, filling her nose with the rich scent of their soap.

Kneeling as she was, her legs started to twinge a little, reminding her that while her bottom was cushioned by Corvo's strong thighs, she was still crouching on marble. At last, when she had one hand buried deeply in the thick hair at the back of Corvo's skull, she reached down with the other and tentatively touched his sex. 

It was an awkward angle, between their bodies, in water that was so warm it almost stung her oversensitized fingertips. She didn't dare to look quite yet. But the jittery quiver in her spine had acquired a molten edge, and she wanted... she wanted...

Underwater, even the thatch of hair at the base of Corvo's cock felt soft and pliant. Quite daringly, with her pulse beating hard against her ribs, Callista carefully wrapped her hand all around his girth. He was impossibly silky to her touch, a heavy, hot weight that filled her palm.

Corvo drew his lips from hers with a soft sucking noise and sucked in a ragged breath. He had pressed his eyes shut again. His brow creased almost like he was in pain. Callista wondered briefly when was the last time he'd— 

But then she thought of the rumors she'd heard and used to scoff at, the little whispers about the late Empress and her Lord Protector and the Fugue Feasts since Jessamine's father had died. Callista swallowed. She pushed the thought away.

That hot, plump weight pulsed softly in her hand. A hook seemed to have buried itself in her belly and was pulling tight, an insistent tug. The kiss she pressed to Corvo's lips was sloppy, skidded off to the side a bit with her bad aim, and finally she couldn't stop herself and chanced a look down.

The water was soapy. Islands of bubbles drifted past between them and stuck to her breasts. But she still let out her breath in a sigh at the sheer lewdness of the blurry sight, her hand wrapped snugly around Corvo's cock. The head was flushed dark in her grasp, the skin stretched drumstick-tight even after the tentative clumsiness of her touch.

Corvo cupped a wet, hot hand around her cheek. He kissed her again, achingly slow even though his breath came shivery and stuttering. Callista arched into him, pressed almost greedily into his hands. Between her legs, her folds were swollen and throbbing by now, aching-empty inside. 

Corvo's palm slid down her neck to the sensitive valley between her collarbones. His hands trembled minutely, though whether it was with restraint or the same faint incredulity she'd seen in his eyes, she did not know. 

Callista rose onto her knees. She winced when her calves finally unlocked, blood rushing back into the cramped muscles. 

Water trickled down her ribs. Exposed to the cool air, her skin prickled into hard, tingling goosebumps. She braced a hand on Corvo's broad shoulder for leverage. Her breathing came in stuttery bursts. The heat of the water had ignited something inside of her—not a ravaging flame, but the deep and lasting glow of an iron left to heat by the fire.

And she was slick and slippery now, aching inside with the yearning to join with him. She steadied her grip on his penis and was stopped by his shaking hands under her thighs.

"Wait," Corvo gasped. He'd leaned his head against the rim of the basin as though he lacked the strength to hold it up anymore. His eyes were on her, glittery slits of near-black.

He still looked very faintly amazed, like a part of him couldn't believe that this was happening, and perhaps like that same part was also remembering the last time he'd done this. "Wait, you— we shouldn't..."

Callista was hit with the sudden urge to giggle, born simply from the youthful shivery feeling inside. "Moon tea," she said breathlessly. 

It took an effort to make herself stop. She knelt there, suspended over him, her wet hair dripping down her breasts. She needed him _inside_ , where a hot and merciless yearning burrowed, begging to be filled. 

But she did not want what he'd give only with reluctance. She licked her lips and said, "Though we don't have to if you don't want..."

Corvo's mouth quirked into a wry smile. It chased that unprecedented, uncertain look out of his eyes. "Oh, believe me, I _want_."

It was a stretch. It'd been a while, and Callista was... well, she _was_ in the habit of letting her hands trail under her nightgown sometimes, but it was hardly the same. The girth of him pressed her open, stretched until it stung just a bit. But once he was inside, once the swollen head of his cock had nudged past the resistance... 

Callista moaned, startlingly loud in the echoing bathroom. She was helpless to stop the shudder that wracked her, a deep-seated tremor. She guided him inside as much as she could, then slid impatiently down. The hot water squelched and foamed between their bellies.

And Corvo— oh. Corvo squeezed his eyes shut and let out a rough, broken sound, his head fell back against the rim of the basin with an audible thunk. His hair dripped wetly over his shoulder.

Sensation and pressure collided in her belly, a sudden rush of prickling feeling after so long untouched. Her opening burned with discomfort. But deeper was that ravenous ache inside, sated and urgent all at once. 

The slight sting of pain would take some time to ease, later. But Callista did not _care_ , not when Corvo's cock fit so snugly and blood-hot inside of her, a starburst of sensation so intense that she almost imagined she could feel his heartbeat where they were joined.

She was only dimly aware that her short fingernails were digging into Corvo's shoulders. Blood rushed roaring like the tide through her ears. The stretch parted her folds where her pearl sat stiff and throbbing, a hot, sore splinter between her legs—and she _had_ to hold on to Corvo's shoulders because if she let go, she would snake a hand down and that'd be it, she'd be reaching a rushed completion.

Dizziness gripped her. It spun the room gently until the very water seemed to rise up to encourage their embrace. It took her a moment to gather her wits, stop making soft little noises with each shaky outrush of breath. She braced her weight on his shoulders and made to move.

But Corvo's hands on her hips stopped her. He hissed in a frantic breath through his teeth, like she'd dealt him a mortal blow. 

For the first time Callista looked fully at him. He looked— _wrecked_ , taken apart before they'd even quite begun, flushed and frowning and gritting his teeth until a muscle jumped in his jaw.

His grip was tight, desperate, digging into the sinewy muscle around Callista's hipbones. Something in her uncoiled at the pressure, a prickling, unexpected rush. She felt her back arch and moaned, a small exhalation of sound.

Corvo's fingers sprang free of their hold. "S-Sorry," he choked out, and Callista realized he thought he'd hurt her, and without thinking pressed her own hands to his, set her water-wrinkled fingertips to the broad backs of his hands. 

Hot water engulfed her arms. Goosebumps raced up her shoulders. Callista held her breath, forced herself to exhale deeply and ease off that too-soon edge, rein in the urge to grind down into his lap until she found her peak.

When at last they began to move, it was together, a slow rocking motion, almost soothing. Pressed into the marble bench by her weight, Callista's knees stung. But she couldn't bring herself to resettle.

Not when finally, _finally_ she was being filled the way she needed. Corvo's erection was a hard, hot pressure inside her, speeding her blood to molten heat. The thick muscles of Corvo's thighs bunched and released under her buttocks, like he was only just restraining the urge to thrust up into her, bury himself to the hilt again and again. 

She kissed him and kissed him, and bit clumsily at his lower lip in her sudden, shocked lust as the little nub of her pearl brushed against the hot, soft skin of his cock.

Callista tipped herself forward. She braced her arms on Corvo's shoulders and barely noticed the twinge from her wrist. She nipped at his mouth, moved her hips with desperation, chasing, chasing that bare hint of friction and groaning each time she found it, with each nudge of her pearl against the hot, slick place where they were joined.

"Callista," Corvo whispered. His voice broke in the middle of her name. 

His eyes were dazed and soft, caught as off-guard as he ever was, and he looked up at her like she would disappear in a heartbeat if he so much as glanced away, an undeserved and delightful mirage sent to a starving man in Pandyssia's red deserts.

Callista's calves twinged with the beginnings of a cramp. She hitched in a breath and bit her lip. Her sex felt hot and throbbing with beginning soreness, but it was the most delicious ache that lent a raw edge to the shivers of pleasure that rolled through her. She wanted him _deeper_ , though she felt his muscled pelvis and the softness of his testicles against herself every time she set her weight down into his lap.

Corvo's hands found her hips again. They shook, she felt that even through the reassuring broadness of his palms, but their weight was firm and reassuring. 

He took some of her weight, helped her knees unlock just a bit. She let out a half-moaned, breathy sound just at the pleasure of that, the rush of tingling sensation into her calves and feet. Her eyes fell shut. 

A part of her, a very dim faraway part, wondered at herself. Here she was, in a luxurious bath in Dunwall Tower after the third or so coup on the Empire's regents. A year ago, with her barrister, tutoring that lord's spoiled brats, she never would have guessed where life would take her.

She had certainly never done _this_. She'd lain on her back amidst rumpled sheets as the barrister had rocked into her. She had stroked his sweaty hair out of his face. She had certainly never sat astride the Lord Protector's lap and made low, wanton noises that echoed up to the painted ceiling.

But she couldn't help herself. Corvo's cock filled her so good and tight, a snug and perfect fit that left no room even for any soapy water between them. Her body seemed to grip him and pull him closer, her channel a slick and clinging glove around him. 

She never, never wanted him to stop rocking up into her like that, and she wanted to be on her back and have him above her, she wanted her tousled hair falling across his powerful thighs and his rough, capable fingers inside—

Tremors went through her legs. Corvo must have felt her tire. He gripped her hips tighter, a question in his touch. "Yes," Callista moaned, "yes, _yes_ , oh—"

And he moved them both, like Callista was the lightest weight he'd ever lifted. He pulled her down hard, his penis was a hot and insistent pressure inside, and she keened, a helpless, broken noise that was wrenched from her, when suddenly the pressure points of his thumb seemed to hold her open further, parted her blood-filled folds until she felt the swirl of water against her throbbing and engorged pearl.

It was inexorable now, a hectic and unstoppable climb. She wound tighter and tighter, and Corvo seemed to feel it because he tipped her hips forward a bit, encouraged her to move as she liked. 

She trembled in his grip. Her hips squirmed restlessly to catch the wave that was building and building. And at last it broke and she cried out, a ragged, hoarse shout that echoed through the high room, as she reached her peak in a rush of spasming muscle and a deep-seated, hot implosion of her sex.

It took her a moment to catch her breath. Corvo had almost stilled. He held her in his lap to let her ride out her release. Callista felt herself flutter and clench around him as she came down. He was still inside her, an insistent pressure, and Callista shuddered—it didn't ignite the same urgency from before, but still felt prickly-hot and good.

Corvo leaned in and kissed her jaw. She thought vaguely that he'd meant to get her cheek, but had missed. He was shaking too, and as she wound her arms tighter around his neck she wondered how he'd managed to hold back. And still his thumbs brushed soothingly across her skin, and he was holding on to the fleshy part where her buttocks met her thighs so that his tight grip wouldn't bruise her.

Well, Callista thought, with a hazy smile down at the tousled top of his head, that would just not do. She clenched around him, with purpose this time.

She rolled her hips as best she could with the little leverage that her exhausted thighs provided. Corvo exhaled harshly against her neck, his fingers twitching around her hips. He was quiet, Callista had noticed that—but this close to him, she felt the tremor that ran through his body, the slight, helpless squirming of his hips that he didn't seem to be able to stop. 

It wouldn't take long, she knew. He'd looked so _shocked_ when she'd sunk down on him. Callista wanted to kiss him. But he'd dropped his forehead to her shoulder, so she settled for nipping at his ear. She carded her hands through his hair while she gripped him tight and slick inside herself and rocked him to completion.

By her shoulder, Corvo made a choked, broken sound. His hips jerked as he spilled inside her. Callista could almost imagine she felt it, a sudden sticky-hot rush of his seed. 

She pressed down against him and hissed when the contact stretched the sensitive skin around her pearl, and took his pulsing sex as deeply into herself as she could manage.

The water lapped gently at their bodies. Callista's breasts were once again pressed to Corvo's chest, sensitive and full with her pleasure. She had at some point put her hands on the cold tiles for leverage. 

The bruised wrist protested a little. She slid her hands into his hair instead. Corvo had one broad hand on her back, his forehead still pressed to her shoulder, and was stroking his fingertips down her spine, a shivery, almost reverent touch.

He straightened slowly, giving her time to untangle her fingers from the wet, clinging strands. A few top layers of his hair had almost dried in the humid air. She smoothed her wet fingers through it one last time, then let go.

Corvo put his hands around her hips and helped her climb off him. They both hissed as Corvo's softening penis slipped out of her, a clenching, sudden emptiness inside, and a pleasant sting where she'd stretched to accommodate him. Callista sighed in relief as her knees finally unlocked and blood rushed back into her calves.

She ended up sitting with her back to Corvo's chest. She felt small and dainty in his loose hold, not at all as long-limbed as she was. 

Somehow, she liked that. She suppressed a smile and burrowed a little deeper into his arms. Her hair stuck in wet strands to his chest.

The water was still hot, steaming gently around them. The pipes clanked in the wall. Drowsily, Callista mused that the Tower was probably never this quiet. The two of them were given a rare look into the slumbering palace, in a befuddled interregnum while the servants rushed about and prepared the guest quarters for those who had toppled Lord Regent Havelock off his ill-begotten throne.

Corvo had draped his arms loosely around her, enough to steady but not nearly enough to cage. His hands lay folded on her belly. Through the soap suds, Callista saw the contrast there, his tanned forearms and her usually pale ribs, now flushed a sated blotchy red.

She trailed her fingers across the veins on the soft insides of his arms. She only skimmed over the burns—she was not sure if they still hurt. The skin was reddened and wrinkly with growing scar tissue, now softened by the hot water.

Callista drifted, and dozed a little, to the soft splashing noises of the water lapping at the edges of the basin and the sated, warm throb of her sex and the unexpected but welcome comfort of Corvo's loose hold.

Until at last Corvo nudged her, very gently—maybe almost regretful to have to wake her up. Callista gave an unladylike sniffle and stirred against his chest.

Their gazes caught and held. And there was something in Corvo's eyes that was just retreating, a softness shuttered carefully away. Perhaps he had been looking down at her with the same fascinated, slightly befuddled expression from before, the one she kept catching glimpses of but knew not what to do with.

"You're falling asleep," he whispered. "We should go."

Callista grimaced in sympathy. Even whispering, his voice sounded about as bad as she'd ever heard it, rough and wet. The corner of Corvo's mouth ticked up in a slightly exasperated smile but he said nothing, just let Callista level that single worried look at him.

"Alright," she agreed. 

Then she hesitated. She wanted to urge him to request more tea from the kitchens, sweetened with honey to soothe his vocal chords. But she wasn't sure if it was her place to say something like that to him. She didn't want to ruin their moment.

In the end, she just stood. Her feet were clumsy and swollen against the tiled floor of the basin. She could see her toes, now—the cover of soap suds had thinned out as the bubbles burst little by little.

After the brief, shivery stumble out of the hot water, the bathrobe was a welcome, warm weight around her shoulders. It soaked the dampness off her skin and wrapped in rich and decadent folds around her middle. The cloth felt rough against her fingertips, wrinkled and sensitive as they were from the water.

Corvo hadn't brought a bathrobe. Callista brushed out her hair with the comb she'd brought and politely kept her back to him while he toweled off behind her and tugged his clothes back on. She could hear the clink and rattle of his weapons as he fastened the belt around his coat again.

She wasn't sure what to say to him, or whether she should say anything at all. It was not that she was _ashamed_ of what had just transpired but... well, a little bit of embarrassment trickled in anyway, now that she was out of the water and her common sense was returning.

She had not planned for this to happen at all. And yet it had. When a servant had given her this bathrobe, she had not imagined that she would pull it back on over limbs flushed with satisfaction, that her breasts rubbing against the cloth would set off little sparks of residual pleasure.

Callista gathered her hair up in a towel. Her flushed feet were tucked back into the richly embroidered slippers. Then she took a deep, fortifying breath and turned to Corvo.

Who had finished dressing, and was just doing up the last buttons of his coat. He looked almost immaculate, with his sword and pistol slung around his waist on his belt. Only his hair was in half-dried disarray. His skin was still flushed from the bath. Other than that, he looked as composed as he always did—perhaps a bit tired, but not at all like he'd just taken a tumble in the bath with the Empress' tutor.

Callista gave him a quick, blurry smile. She felt awkward and wrong-footed, like something witty and conspiratorial should've been said by now, but hadn't.

A rush of cool air pushed into the bathroom when the door opened. Callista saw the steam that billowed out around them, and wondered briefly with a cringe who would take care of the bath.

The thought fled as Corvo stepped over to her.

Despite the color that had risen to Callista's cheeks, it wasn't very hard to meet his eyes. There was no recrimination or embarrassment in his gaze. He looked at her like he always had done, with a sort of calm regard, and not at all like he thought her a slattern fit to take up a job at the Golden Cat.

His hand, as he held it out to her, was courteous as always. Callista took it.

His skin was just as wrinkled as hers from the water, his calluses softened a bit from the prolonged soak. Inexplicably, that eased the tension in her, made her feel girly and covert, as though they were united in the keeping of a great secret.

Callista put her hand into his and allowed him to help her down the few steps of shallow stairs from the bathroom to the wide corridor. Then, as though on its own, her hand somehow slipped into the crook of his elbow.

Corvo shortened his steps to match hers. Callista felt the point of contact between them like a brand, the fabric of Corvo's sturdy coat surprisingly soft under her palm. She tripped over her feet a few times. She didn't want to inconvenience him. Surely he had better things to do than walking her down to the guest quarters...

But Corvo did not look like she was imposing on him. His gaze was calm, straight ahead, scanning the doorways and rafters out of habit more than necessity.

He could have left her to find the bedrooms for herself, and she'd have thought nothing of it. If anything, he'd have had a right to make himself scarce after their encounter. And yet he seemed determined to see her safely to a suitable bedchamber.

Not a man disposing of a woman of lower station that he'd lain with as was his right, Callista thought. A soldier escorting a respected lady in a certain state of deshabille through the many confusing and echoing hallways of the palace. 

By his side, Callista could almost think herself grand, though her feet were clad only in soft slippers and her hair lay in damp strands on her shoulders. No jewels adorned her, and even the fine bathrobe was borrowed. But Callista felt a bit like a lady anyway, with her hand tucked safely into the crook of Corvo's arm, and ducked her head to hide her smile.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I found the Dishonored kink meme and the rest is history. I want to fill _all_ the prompts. For now, [this](https://dishonored-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/446.html?thread=407230#cmt407230) is the one that inspired this fic. Posting about my WIPs on Tumblr has really lit a fire under my ass--it only took me about a week to finish this fic. Accountability is such an amazing thing. Many thanks to [melonbutterfly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly) for helping me figure out a title!
> 
> This fic is loosely set in the same headcanon as [Tales from the Hound Pits](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3818962/chapters/8514205), but not really, because in this one Corvo can speak. I really like messing around with his voice. I'm still tentatively thinking about turning all my plot bunnies into a series (also note that I'm still not doing it because I'm a chickenshit xD). I hope you enjoyed this story!
> 
>  
> 
> I love Corvo & Callista so much & if you do too, or if you just want to be bombarded with fandom posts, feel free to check out my [Tumblr](http://derryday.tumblr.com/). :D


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